Rookie Days
by Caveat Lector 52
Summary: Fillmore and Third start their final year of middle school and are put in charge of training two rookies. When whispers of an underground cheating ring crop-up, Fillmore, Third, and the newbies are sent to stop it.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**—Rookie Days

**Author**—Caveat Lector 52

**Rating/warnings**—T, for (very) mild language and minor violence

**Timeline/spoilers**—Post-series finally, there'll be references to past episodes, but nothing to major.

**Disclaimer**—Fillmore! is the property of Disney Television Animation; I'm doing this purely for enjoyment, not fanatical value.

**Characters/pairings—** Fillmore, Ingrid Third, Allen Rook (OC), Katherine Summers (OC), Becky Monk (OC), Greg Holestead (OC), various minor characters; no pairings.

**Word count—** 1,428 (minus the A/Ns)

**Summary—** Fillmore and Third start their final year of middle school and are put in charge of training two rookies. When whispers of an underground cheating ring crop-up, Fillmore, Third, and the newbies are sent to stop it.

**Author's note—**well, here we are: My first ever non anime or Harry Potter fanfic. I'm rather excited. The plot bunny's been knocking around my head for years, but it wasn't until I started watching old episodes on YouTube that I decided to let it loose!

**XXX**

"They always run," Fillmore grumbled. He dodged around a table stacked high with ceramic flowerpots, only to be knocked to the ground by a jet of water from a wayward power hoes. "Ahh!" He struggled to stand, slipped, and got splattered with even more cold, watery mud.

Half a dozen or so yards ahead, Clark Standish—a lanky eight grader with straw-blond hair—chanced a glance over his shoulder, laughing at the sight of the drenched boy on the ground. "You'll never catch me, Officer!" he hooted. With that, he disappeared into the growing masses.

"Fillmore!" wiping the gunk from his glasses, he saw his partner, Ingrid Third, elbowing her way through the throng of people to reach him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he assured, taking her offered hand and raising to his feet. "But we lost Standish."

She scanned the crowd, using the opportunity to catch her breath. Standish had led them on a doozy of a chase: starting at the bike rack, zigzagging across the grounds, finally ending up here, near the greenhouses, where the Gardening Club was hosting a harvest festival of sorts.

Many of the students were gathered in front of a small stage, watching a group in bright costumes prance around. "The little pumpkin that could!" the banner overhead proudly declared. Ingrid raised an eyebrow, watching people dressed colorful leaves and autumn vegetables frolic around, saying lines in the most melodramatic fashion imaginable. Well, at least it was better than last year's production "The Joys of Mulch: a musical!"

Something caught her eye: one of the dancers was dreadfully out of step. Taking a closer look, she could see that his costume didn't quite fit either. "Check out the gourd."

Readjusting his spectacles, he followed her line of vision. He set his jaw and nodded. "You go right, I'll take left; we'll corner him center stage."

To an outsider, it was like watching a well-choreographed dance. They moved along the edges of the crowd, matching each other step for step, their target none the wiser. It wasn't until they were mounting the steps that Standish realized what was going on. Desperation setting in, he made one last bid for freedom, splitting from the group and sprinting towards the back of the platform. But Third and Fillmore were close behind. With the flying leap, they tackle him! In a tangled mass of limbs, they all fell through the heavy drapery and off the back—right into the "Fertilizer and Manure" display.

"Crackers!" Ingrid gagged, covering her nose with one hand while keeping a tight grip on Standish with the other.

"Dog, that is _nasty_!" Fillmore mirrored his friend's stance. Standish had to settle for holding his breath, a fact he didn't look too happy about.

"Ex-_cu-_se me!" a red-haired girl glared up at them, hands firmly on her hips. "Do you _mind_? I'm trying to give a lecture on how growth hormones used on corn feed to cows can_ drastic_ effect the quality of manure-"

"Say no more," Fillmore cut in, stepping gingerly from the mound. Ingrid followed suit, and together they began leading Standish back to the school.

"You—you don't _understand_!" he started to moan. "Day in, day out, every lunch period, all the best flavors, gone! Those kids from the first floor always get first pick; it's not fair I tell you!"

"That pudding belongs to everyone, Clark," Fillmore said, clearly not moved by the boy's plight.

Standish was about to start another tirade when Ingrid cut him off irritably. "You know, Clark, you could've just _brought _some pudding from home."

The blond boy impersonated a guppy of several seconds before lapsing into a sulky silence.

**XXX**

"Phew! You guys smell like my Uncle Chester's tuna casserole!" Danny exclaimed by way of greeting.

With a weathering look cast in the Irish boy's direction, they handed Standish over to Tehama, who gave them a sympathy smile. "We can cover the rest of the shift if you wanna nab a shower before dismissal," she offered helpfully.

This was a wonderful proposal, but before they could take her up on it, Vallejo burst from his office, cocoa mug in hand.

"Fillmore! Third! Folsom wants you in her office, pronto," he sniffed. "O'Farrell, I told you not to being uncle Chester's casserole for lunch anymore!"

"It wasn't me!"

Ingrid looked at her dark-skin partner, eyebrow raised in a "what-did-we-do-now?" expression. He replied with a casual "I-have-no-clue" shrug.

**XXX**

Folsom sat behind her desk, fingers laced together. She appeared calm, but there was a glint in her blue eyes that could spell trouble.

"I heard you two caught the Pudding Cup Caper, excellent work!" she graced them with a rare smile of approval (it looked like it kind of hurt actually,) and continued. "But of course I wasn't worried. Not when I knew X's _best_ were on the case. And you are the best."

"Thank you, ma'am," Ingrid had no idea where this was going, but had a feeling she wasn't going to like it.

"You _are _the best," she repeated. "And this time next year, my best will be navigating the halls of X High School!"

Ah, so that's what this was about. Come Spring, they—along with Tehama, Anza, O'Farrell, and Vallejo—would be graduating, leaving a considerable dent in the force.

Folsom regained her composure, and was now eying them steadily. "And do you know what happens then?" she asked curtly.

Fillmore answered for the both of them. "Yea, Ma'am, but—"

"No buts! The Safety Patrol is the only thing standing between this school and total chaos! I will not have them . . . them. . . Raycliff!" she snapped at the man beside her. "What's the phrase I'm looking for?"

Her assistant, who'd been completely silent up till now, replied promptly. "Depleted in manpower."

"Depleted in manpower," she agreed suddenly all business-like. "So I've taken steps to prevent that."

She took two files from the drawer and slid them across the desk top. "These are two of our newest recruits. I want you to train them: teach them everything you know; transform them into my new dream team!"

'_She's got to be kidding,'_ Ingrid stared at the woman as if she grown another head.

"You start tomorrow," Folsom dismissed them and any complains they might have. Since they was no point in arguing, Ingrid gathered up the folders and followed Fillmore out the door. "And take a shower!" they heard her call after them. "You smell worse than my college roommate after Home Coming weekend."

"I don't know about this, Fillmore," Ingrid admitted once they were out of ear shot. The halls where mostly deserted, save for a few straggles, which meant they could talk in relative privacy without having to lower their voices.

"I think it'll be fun. We did alright with Chesterfield, and he didn't even wanna join in the first place," taking one of the files from her, he flipped it open and scrutinized its contents; next to him, Ingrid was doing the same.

A small photograph of a boy was paper clipped to the front, his dark, almond-shaped eyes nearly obscured by a thick crop of shaggy brown hair. He was grinning, perhaps even laughing, and even through the picture his smile was infectious. Allen Rook, a sixth grader whose family had recently moved to the area.

After a few minutes, they switched. The photo on the second folder was a girl: Katherine Summers, also eleven, with honey-blonde hair and bright green eyes. Unlike her soon-to-be-partner, her countenance was serious, and she held herself rather stiffly. Her record was squeaky-clean, contrasting Fillmore, Ingrid, and even Rook (who had a few demerits, mostly for innocent pranks and practical jokes.)

Ingrid shot Fillmore a playful smirk. "Reminds me of a _certain someone_."

He chuckled. "Pht. That's tame compared to the stuff I pulled. Oh, man, I've gotta jet. I told Dad I'd rack the lawn before he got home," he added, just noticing the time.

"You're not gonna shower first," she indicated the approaching locker rooms. "Your mom won't let you in the house smelling like that."

"Nah, she won't be home for a few hours; she got a job at the new hobby shop on Lowman Street.

They parted ways: she ducking into the girl's shower, he continuing down the hall. Stopping by the locker to grab a fresh towel, she mulled over his parting words, accompanied with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it'll be fine."

"I hope you're right," she sighed, slamming the metal door shut.

**XXX**

So, did you like it? Hate it? Let me know with a review! Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find a Beta, so any mistakes are my own fault. Feel free to point them out. I'm always looking for ways to improve my skills.

Caveat Lector 52: Let the reader beware.


	2. Author's note

Title—Rookie Days

Author—Caveat Lector 52

Rating/warnings—T, for (very) mild language and violence

Timeline/spoilers—post-series finally, there'll be references to past episodes, but nothing major.

Disclaimer—Trust me, if I owned the series it would still be running.

Characters/pairings—Fillmore, Ingrid Third, Allen Rook (OC), Katherine Summers (OC), Becky Monk (OC), Greg Holestead (OC), various minor characters; no pairings.

Word count—2, 971 (minus the A/Ns)

Summary— Fillmore and Third start their final year of middle school and are put in charge of training two rookies: Allen Rook and Katherine Summers. When rumors of an underground cheating ring crop-up, Fillmore, Third, Rook, and Summers are sent in to stop it.

Author's note—This was a pain to write! Seriously, every have one of those days where everything you put on paper looks like utter crap? Yeah, that was this chapter in a nut shell. I rewrote the beginning over four times, and I'm not entirely happy with the ending. But I wanted to get this out (I'm a day late as is), so I'll stop gripping and let you decide! (And yes, that was a poorly disguise plea for reviews.)

**XXX**

But with the weekend to mull it over, Ingrid returned to school the following Monday feeling cautiously optimistic. The cold snap that'd lasted all week finally ended on Sunday, and the good weather did much to lift her sprits. Now it actually _felt _like mid-Autumn, instead of winter. The trees lining the boulevard were all different hues of red, orange, gold, and brown. Big piles of leaves covered the sidewalk; they made an enjoyable crunch when you stomped through them. Students were lingering near the front entrance, vainly trying to postpone the beginning of another school week.

"Hey, Ingrid," Cheri Shortwell waved enthusiastically as she passed. Detaching herself from a knot of cheerleaders, she fell into step beside the Goth girl. Producing a tape recorder from a coat pocket, the bubbly blonde asked for a few words on the capture of The Pudding Cup Caper.

"It stank," was all she'd say. Leaving a huffing Cheri on the stairs, the raven pushed the doors open, releasing the cornucopia of noise inside. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked, and everyone was babbling on about this or that. With her bag safely stored away, she fought against the flow of traffic to the safety patrol HQ.

The recruits were easy to spot, being the only two there not wearing the customary orange sashes. Rook was leaning on a desk, chatting with a few officers, including O'Farrell. Somebody must've said something amusing, because Danny and Rook were in stiches and everyone else was at least smiling.

With his rumbled gray tee-shirt, baggy olive-green pants, and bright red baseball cap (worn backwards, of course), the new guy gave off something of a skater boy vibe. He had dimples, but only on one side, which gave his grin a charming, lopsided appearance.

Summers, on the other hand, was alone, in one of the chairs lining the far wall. Every so often, she'd cast a scathing glance in the rambunctious group's direction, but otherwise her nose was buried in a book. She wore what could only be called a school uniform: crisp white blouse, red plaid skirt, black tights and matching patent leather shoes.

Ingrid observed all this in less than a minute, but long enough for the blonde to notice. Carefully marking her place, she stood, smoothed her skirt, and quickly moved to introduce herself. Up close, you could see her earrings: Batman logo studs. They were jarringly out of place, compared to the rest of her ensemble, plus the formal way she introduced herself.

"Are you Ingrid Third? I'm Katherine Summers, pleased to meet you."

"Yeah, nice to meet you, too," they shook hands, Ingrid doing a poor job of hiding a wince; Summers had a firm grip for an eleven year old. Thankfully, they were saved from any potential awkwardness by Fillmore.

"Sorry I'm late: one of my tires blew out. You're Summers, right?"

"Uh-huh," the change was surprising and instantaneous. Her serious expression disappeared, replaced by a soft smile. That faint air of confidence was gone, too. She stuttered and blushed through her words, all the while being unable to look him in the eyes. "I'm Katherine, or just Kate, b-but only if you want to. I'm fine with Katherine, or Summers, or—Hey!"

Allen had chosen that moment to leave the giggling gaggle and bound over, accidently jostling Summers as he fell in beside her. They were a contrasting duo; opposites in almost every way. Summers was tall for her age, skinny too. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back in a neat, no nonsense plait. She was tan—the deep face, neck, arms and legs one that came from spending hours in the sun—with a sprinkling of freckles scattered across her nose. Her green eyes were sharp, intelligent, and unusually bright. Juxtaposed, Rook was short (only coming up to her nose) and kind of chubby, with shaggy dark hair that fell just above his collar. He was fair-skinned, and had brown, almond-shaped eyes that twinkled with impish glee.

He grinned. "Yo, how's it going? I'm Allen."

"You're standing on my foot!" Summers snapped, any and all shyness completely gone.

"Oops, sorry. It's Katie, right?"

"Don't call me that!"

Fillmore and Ingrid exchanged a look. Thankfully, Vallejo called all four into his office before things could escalate. The junior commissioner presented Rook and Summers with their badges and sash; along with minted copies of the Handbook.

"Do we really have to read this," Rook asked once they left, flipping doubtfully through the pages.

"Of course we do," summers admonished, holding the book closer to her chest. "You can't perform your duties without knowing the rules and regulations. Right, Officer Fillmore?"

"They're important," he allotted. "But so's trusting your instincts. You guys are sharing the desk over there for now. Stash you stuff there for now. We're going on tardy patrol."

"So, how'd you wanna do this?" he asked Ingrid. "Divide and conquer?"

"Yeah," she agreed, watching the two get in a spat over who got the top draw.

**XXX**

Fillmore took Rook of to the west side of X for tardy patrol, while Ingrid and Summers headed in the opposite directions (much to the latter's disappointment).

"It's simple enough: fine the kids skipping homerooms, and issue them one of these," the bespectacled boy explained, showing Rook a small pad of yellow tardy slips. "Make sure you write down their name and grade. Three slips equal one after school detention."

"But aren't _we _skipping?" Rook asked, surprised such a thing would be allowed.

"Only for fifteen minutes, and only every other Monday," Fillmore clarified. "The squad alternate days."

"So I guess a run to the quickie mart's out of the questions, huh?" Rook gave him a cheeky smirk while Fillmore mental rolled his eyes. Great, another wanna joker. As if O'Farrell wasn't bad enough.

It didn't take long for them to come across their first perpetrator: Three boys and a girl playing a trading card game behind the stairs. Motioning for Rook to follow, Fillmore approached the small party; they were so caught-up in dealing and trading cards that they didn't even notice until her was right next to him.

"What'ch playing?" All four jumped, cards flying everywhere. Rook laughed—it was like something out of a movie!—blushing in apology when the older officer shot him a look. With Rook still trying to stifle is giggles, Fillmore addressed the four as they scrambled to collect their cards. "Bell rang five minutes ago."

One of the boys at least had the decency to meet his eyes. "We, uh, didn't hear it."

"That so?" the dark skinned boy crossed his arms. They were all standing now, a nervous, fidgety cluster. This wasn't the first time he'd caught them, nor the second. Three strikes, you're out. But their apparent spokesman wasn't going down without a fight.

"Aw, come one, Fillmore. Cut use some slack."

"No can do, Mac," ignoring the grumbled, he handed his trainee the memo pad. "Think you can handle this one?"

"Yeah!" Rook practically cheered. "Okay, you lot, hands on the wall! No sudden movements! Turns around! Hands on your head! _I said face the wall_!"

"Which do we do?" the sole girl whispered to Mac.

Fillmore resisted the urge to slap his forehead. "Just give him your names and grades."

Two minutes later, they were escorting "Mandy Lou, 7th," "Paul Garcia, 6th," Dustin Parker, 7th," and "Mac Degal, 7th" to their respective homerooms. Rook was ecstatic (to the sheer annoyance of everyone else) cracking jokes lame enough to draw audible groans from his audience.

"They'll let anybody one the force these days," Parker stage-whispered to Degal. Yet Degal didn't seem to mind, even laughing at a few.

"Hey, officer, I've gotta go," he leaned closer to the brunette.

"Go?"

"You know, _go_," he stressed, jerking his head towards the upcoming boys room. "I'll only be a minute, okay?"

Rook shrugged. "Okay."

"Where's Degal?" Fillmore asked only a few minutes later, ushering Lou and Parker into class.

"Bathroom."

"You left him _alone_?" without waiting for an answer, he raced back, arriving just in time to spot Degal disappear around the corner. Ordering Rook to stay put, he gave chase, gaining on Degal before they were even halfway down the hall. Lunging, he grabbed the younger boy by the back of his shirt; bring the short lived chase to an abrupt halt.

"You've just bought yourself another detention, Mac. Make that three," he added when Degal told him _exactly _where he thought Fillmore could go.

"I'm really sorry," Rook apologized again. They'd delivered everyone where they needed to be, and where now heading for their own classes.

"Trust me, man, you aren't the first to make that mistake," Fillmore assured.

"I feel like a noob," Rook chuckled a bit.

"Well, you _are_ a rookie," Fillmore couldn't resist teasing. "But seriously," he continued. "Don't sweet it. Everybody screws up the first day. You weren't even the worst."

"Oh yeah, what'd _you _do?"

"Dog, look at the time," Fillmore suddenly exclaimed, quacking his pace. "Hurry up, Rookie. We're gonna be late."

"Huh? Hey, wait up!" Rook hastened to keep up. "Aw, come one. Dude, tell me!" Please, I promise I won't laugh. Much."

Fillmore pretended not to hear him.

**XXX**

I'm shooting for a chapter every two weeks, so you can expect the next one of June 9th.

**Caveat Lector:** Let the reader beware.


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